Page 43 of The Stolen Kingdom

“You look tired, Seashell.” Valda tutted.

“No, I— I swear… I—” Maris stammered, pressing her index fingers to her temple.

“Seashell, it’s fine,” Valda whispered. Her hand trailed lightly along Maris’s back, guiding her to the love seat. Valda sat, gently pulling Maris onto her lap. “Rest, I’m here. Let me take care of you.”

Maris’s eyes grew dark and hooded as Valda released her arm and came to circle her waist and touch her thigh, taking in the softness of the robe. It all felt too real, and Valda believed it truly was for a moment.

“Gods, please let me take care of you,” Valda whimpered, pressing her forehead to Maris’s back and closing her eyes tightly. She had craved the other woman’s touch for far too long, and although she was there, touching her, something was off, something deep within her chest bubbled up, pulling at the bond.

Desperation…

Maris scoffed as she turned to Valda. “Thisis a dream.”

Valda clenched her jaw. She knew Maris was right, but the warmth, the closeness—it all felt too real. Surely, Morpheus himself had taken pity on them, weaving their dreams into something tangible, something that allowed them to meet like this.

“It’s not a dream,” Valda insisted. “Dreams are chaotic, full of illogical things we can’t grasp or understand.” She leaned in, her fingers working at the ties of Maris’s robe. “I can grasp this, Seashell. Just as easily as you can.”

Maris’s hands covered Valda’s, stopping her movements. “Valda, this is not real. You are not here. We are not in Oberon Castle.”

Valda squeezed her eyes shut. If she agreed with Maris, she would wake up to empty arms in an empty room. Couldn’t Maris understand that?

“We are where we are supposed to be.” Her large, callused hand slipped inside the robe, finding Maris’s soft skin underneath and teasing it with her fingertips. “Together.”

Maris’s eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned back against Valda’s strong shoulders. The shift in weight made Valda’s breath hitch, and she tightened her arms around Maris, cradling her closer, holding her as though she might vanish at any moment.

Maris’s hands found Valda’s dark strands, her fingers curling into them, clutching tightly. “It’s not real,” she whispered, though the words seemed more for herself than for Valda. “Not real.”

“It’s real, Seashell… It feels real to me, and I am sure it feels real to you.”

The firm grip on Valda’s hair softened, turning into a gentle caress. Maris’s nails lightly scratched her scalp, drawing a low, guttural groan from Valda. “Gods, Valda… I miss you so much.”

Valda pressed her face to Maris’s temple, breathing her in, letting herself be surrounded by the scent and presence of her mate. Her arms tightened their hold, squeezing Maris closer as she fought to contain the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

“I miss you too,” she whispered, her lips brushing against the curve of Maris’s ear.

Trailing her nose through the soft curls of Maris’s hair, Valda let her hand glide down Maris’s arm, leaving a path of goosebumps in its wake. Her other hand settled on Maris’s stomach, her touch feather-light, feeling the faint tremor in her skin.

Valda’s lips moved to the curve of Maris’s neck, trailing kisses downward until she felt the rapid, frantic beat of her pulse beneath her lips.

“Valda,” Maris breathed.

“Oh, that voice…” Valda whimpered, pulling back just enough to lock her eyes with Maris’s. “I missed the way my name sounds on your lips.”

Maris’s gaze softened, but her words cut through the haze of desire.

“We should wake up,” she whispered.

Valda froze. She knew Maris was lying to herself. The dampness of her arousal pressed against Valda’s thigh, betraying her true feelings. Yet, as much as Valda ached to continue, she didn’t move.

If Maris didn’t want her—didn’t fully give herself to her—what good would come of this?

“But I don’t want to wake up…” Maris whispered, her voice shaky as her hand gripped Valda’s wrist and guided it downward, pressing it to the junction of her thighs.

“P-please, Valda.”

Valda’s resolve cracked. Her other hand resumed its slow descent, trailing down Maris’s stomach, over the curve of her thigh, before slipping between her legs. She touched the wetness at her folds and her jaw slacked.

Maris’s breath hitched sharply, and Valda’s own air caught in her throat.

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